


Built on Hope

by j_whirl44



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alex and Ben won't give us the forbidden backstory I must improvise., Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24013249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_whirl44/pseuds/j_whirl44
Summary: Zolf and Wilde share a drink.
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	Built on Hope

Wilde sits at the bar at the inn in Japan and just stares at the ale he ordered. It was a bad day. The weather, as poor as it’s ever been, made the scar on his face feel tight. No matter how much he tried to move his face around it didn’t ease the pain. He hates the damn thing, but he uses it as a reminder.

It was his own damn fault after all, he wasn’t careful enough in the beginning. He still thought he was smarter than whatever was happening. To be fair, he also wasn’t aware that the virus can take the shape of people you knew. It happened so fast, there was a moment before he even realized how bad he was bleeding and that he could really only see properly out of one eye. It took a lot of healing and weeks in an unflattering eye patch, but he’s mostly regained his sight. 

He’s thought about covering it up with prestidigitation, but there’s no real point, there’s something about it that makes the magic not last as long. The facade wears off in a matter of hours and Wilde can still  _ feel  _ it there so there’s no real point in trying to hide it.

He sighs and takes a small sip. It tastes horrible. He’s let it go warm and flat.

“Rough day hold up in your office there, boss?” a voice says next to him.

He looks at Zolf and gives him as much of a smile as he’s able to and gestures for him to take a seat, “Oh won’t you join me, Mister Smith, I do always enjoy your bright demeanor” Wilde says.

Zolf laughs and takes a seat, he waves down the inn keeper and orders two shots of sake. He passes one to Wilde who raises an eyebrow. Zolf rolls his eyes, “just take it,” he says.

Wilde does, and the two men raise their small glasses to each other, a cheers to the other and quickly down the liquid. 

It’s been about three months since things went south. The riots overwhelmed Europe and people started retreating to anywhere they could, but there was a lot of travel halted by the storms of varying degrees. Wilde was already in Japan when it happened, Curie sent word about the severity and what their next moves should be. He ran into Zolf a few days later. He was already tracking down his old group, hearing through various contacts that Japan was the next stop. Wilde filled him in on what’s really happening and the two have been working together ever since.

It wasn’t easy at first, there were growing pains, but in a new world like this you had to adapt fast. Whatever thoughts or opinions the two men had about each other from their previous encounters vanished when their base was ambushed by the infected. It was bad, but Zolf managed to lead most of the people out. It was hard to see him as anyone but a leader after that moment. He’s also the one who found the inn and convinced the owner to help locate them.

Wilde secretly wished he had the confidence Zolf exhumed. He certainly wasn’t the frigid cleric of Poseiden he once knew.

“So really, boss, you okay?” Zolf asks again. Wilde looks at him and gives a half-hearted shrug.

“I’m fine,” he says, he feels his face twitch, “the weather’s bad is all. Makes my little friend here agitated sometimes.”

Zolf grunts in acknowledgement, “Yeah. My legs don’t always want to agree with me some days either. My peg leg wasn’t much better,” he says.

Wilde nods, “Suppose we chose the wrong time for battle scars, then.”

“Didn’t have much choice there did we though,” Zolf says, his voice low and a bit angry. It’s a tone Wilde is used to by now, but it still catches him off guard.

Zolf orders another two shots, this time he doesn’t offer one to Wilde.

“Is something bothering you, Mister Smith,” Wilde says.

“Could you-” Zolf starts, a little too loudly, “Could you maybe just...call me Z-zolf. It’s just. Mister Smith it’s-it’s too formal.”

Wilde is taken aback slightly, but he nods his head, “very well. Zolf.”

Wilde notices now how tense Zolf really is. His shoulders are up so high they practically reach the top of his head. He’s slouched over, practically curling in on himself. Which is hard to do considering their sitting on bar stools.

“Zolf. What’s wrong?” Wilde asks.

“Hey I came over here to see how you  _ were _ doing. Not the other way around,” Zolf protests.

“Well then might I suggest you uncurl yourself from the ball you made. You look like a clam right now,” Wilde says back.

Zolf eyes widen for a moment before he looks over himself. He visibly relaxes, shakes out the tension in his neck.

He looks pointedly at Wilde, “There. Done. See?”

Wilde chooses not to point out the creases in his forehead that still give him away.

“Very well, apologizes for asking,” Wilde says.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Wilde still sips his now undrinkable ale and tries to avoid Zolf sulking next to him. They’ve come far in the last few months, but maybe not as far as Wilde first thought.

He hears Zolf shift in his seat as he clears his throat, “I’m just...thinking...about, stuff,” he says quietly. Wilde waits for him to continue, “I just...wish they were here with me. I could- _ we _ could use them right about now,” he says.

Wilde nods, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Zolf scoffs and gives a bitter laugh. He looks lost in thought. Wilde again gives him silence. He’s not really much for talking nowadays anyway.

“It’s also, my brother’s birthday. Today. Now,” Zolf says. This gets Wilde to turn his full attention to him. He still says nothing though, waiting for Zolf to continue.

He does, “he’s, uh, dead. Been dead awhile. A cave-in in our family’s mines,” Zolf eplains. He doesn’t go into any detail from that, and Wilde won’t push him. He doesn’t want to. He likes to think he’s not that obnoxious journalist anymore. There’s really no reason for him to be anymore.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Zolf,” Wilde says. He puts a hand on the dwarfs shoulder. Zolf doesn’t flinch away, instead he almost leans into it, if only for a moment. Wilde continues, “As for your friends. They did what they could. They knew Rome was a risk, but they took it anyway-”

“I should’ve been with them, Hamid. Sasha they-”

“Became very capable in your absence,” Wilde points out. Zolf sighs.

“Guess they didn’t need me after all,”

Wilde lets out a sound that’s a mixture of a laugh and a choke, “I wouldn’t go that far. They very much still were running around like children lost in a market the last time I saw them,” he says to try and cheer Zolf up.

It does get a small smile from him, but it fades quickly.

Another moment of silence falls between them. The air is tense and sad, but that’s not really any different than most days around here now.

Wilde bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks about what to say next, but nothing comes to mind.

He hates this new world. He hates that he didn’t do enough to stop it from happening, but that’s in the past now. All Wilde can do is hope he doesn't screw up as much trying to fix it.

Zolf gives Wilde a look as if to show he’s probably thinking the same thing. He sighs, “Look, Wilde. I’m not particularly good about opening up about things,” he starts, “but now, with the world the way it is. We can’t-do this. We can’t sit around feeling sorry for ourselves. We got to-” he pauses and laughs at himself, “We got to have hope. Have something. I-I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out what to believe in. After my brother died,” another pause, “I don’t-I don’t know. I was just drifting along doing what I thought was right. It still hurt people cared about so, well you know the rest. Anyways, doesn’t matter, I found hope. Or something like it. I don’t need a god to believe in or someone to show me the way. I just...hope. And that’s all we can do now. Hope that together we can find a way to fix this. All of us,” he finishes.

Wilde sits there stunned. He didn’t expect that to pour out of the man sitting beside him. He again just didn’t know what to say. For the first time since this whole thing started, Wilde could feel it. That something. That hope. Maybe all wasn’t lost after all.

Wilde laughs suddenly, which startles Zolf, “What’s so funny?” he asks.

Wilde waves a hand at him, “It’s nothing. I just see why you’ve always seemed to be the leader wherever you go,” he says.

Zolf rolls his eyes again and orders again two more shots. They each take one.

Wordlessly, the two make a toast to hope.

**Author's Note:**

> already had the phrase "Rebellions are built on hope" in my mind when I started writing this yesterday but posting this on Star Wars day makes it even better!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


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